The Last Day
by Merixcil
Summary: A hung-over Russia wakes in the empty house of the Soviet Union with no one but Prussia for company, and even he'll be gone soon. Almost a historical fanfic. Rated T for language, the effects of heavy drinking and some very-nearly RuPru


In the morning it was quiet.

Pale northern sunlight lit the melting frost that had transformed a barren spread of leafless trees and dying grasses into some semblance of the winter wonderland that such a garden was supposed to represent and a cold but gentle wind scattered what was left of autumn far and wide.

The windows of the house were shut tightly, with the exception of one pane high up the building that now lay in pieces on the gravel path below. The door was less imposing than it had once been, enormous and oaken, with scarlet paint peeling from the wood and a worn brass knocker that had been dulled by over a thousand years of use. On this day it looked decidedly decrepit and exhausted, as it had done before and would no doubt do again. Time kept on going after all, and one day the house would be whole once more.

Thick curtains were drawn at each window, red and velvet, their extravagance lost in favour of now appearing to be rather old fashioned. The same could be said of the mismatched stone that the house had been built from, that had allowed itself to become riddled with ivy and moss, even to begin to crumble in some areas. Everything would remain structurally intact of course, places like this required more than just the elements to bring them down.

To the untrained eye, the house would appear void of life and approaching a state of dereliction. No one had been seen going in or out for days now, not since the final swath of those attempting to leave it forever had slipped out of the ancient red door and had run for the gate at the end of the garden. They knew it wouldn't open for them, not yet. They knew they would have to hide themselves in the garden. It would be easy enough, it was a huge garden, riddled with patches of dense forest with a tumble-down shed propped haphazardly against the wall at the far end blocking the final route to freedom; but they had to try to escape.

This morning, when the sun was halfway up the sky and the cock had given up crowing, the door opened again, just a crack, and a girl emerged. She was alone, the only one who had stayed to try to calm the giant, and she had failed.

Now she was running down the garden path as her friends had done before her, shedding a uniform that she had never felt suited her as she went. Her silver blonde hair was too short to obstruct her wide, helpless, deep blue eyes as she clumsily forced herself towards the gate. When she arrived she rattled the rotting wood in the vain hope that it would shatter as she shook it. She threw herself at it repeatedly, silent tears springing to her eyes as each attempt failed, and she did not stop until the bruises of her efforts were rising fresh upon her skin and the final shreds of the hated coat and hat had been fully ripped from her body.

And then she was left in the late autumn chill, with nothing but a white shirt that barely covered her heaving bosom and a pair of old dungarees that she used to wear in the fields to keep her warm. Sobbing, she pulled a flag that was not hers from the wreckage of the uniform she would never wear again and absorbed every nonexistent detail of it as she had done so many times before. Red body, yellow hammer and sickle in the top let hand corner, and that little star. She'd been staring at it for sixty seven years. Shivering, she hesitantly pulled the flag around her shoulders and tied it there, hoping to use it as a means of keeping warm.

She ran from the gate, passing the house and into what was left of a mighty forest beyond and as she ran a sudden burst of wind pulled the flag from her fingers and let it trail out behind her. She stopped to gather the cloth around her once again, but when she turned to snatch it back from the wind, she stopped. The flag trailing from her shoulders was not the one that she had picked up at the gate. This flag was split horizontally, with the upper half coloured the blue of the sky when the sun is high on the best of summer days, and the lower half was glowing with the soft yellow of sunflowers.

She paused, just for a second to marvel at a flag she could now call her own, and then she laughed. She laughed the laugh of a person who knew that there was nothing left for them to fear. The gate didn't open today, but someday it would, and that day was approaching fast. No longer a distant point in an unsure future but a certainty in the life she could now reclaim for herself. And so she ran, ran because the wind and the cold and the feel of her feet hitting earth were so fresh and welcome to her long enslaved body. She let her flag fly behind her, fluttering with her every step as if it too was aware that this long winter was drawing to a close.

* * *

><p>The fire was out in the living room though the remnant of an armchair was still smouldering in the grate. There had been many lush chairs within this room, enough for every member of their dysfunctional unit to take a seat on a harsh winter's night, enjoy the fire, swap stories and sip vodka with each other. It had been a good thing they had here, except that they had hated it. Now the room lay in ruins, the carefully selected chairs littering the floor, reduced to jagged wood and displaced stuffing, mingling with broken glass from the many photo frames on the mantelpiece that had been swept to the ground when the giant had felt the loss of his comrade's company particularly keenly.<p>

This had been a good room; this had been the place where all things seemed possible. A world for everyone, a world that worked. But they had hated it, and now they were gone.

The door to the main hallway was hanging from its final hinge, and through the gap a black and white tiled floor could be seen. It was covered in tiny splinters of wood, this time from the banister that had been torn down in rage just the previous night and the many coat hooks that the giant had dismantled when he awoke one morning to find his house all but empty.

The stairs themselves had remained; there was still a passage to the top of the house, where the many bedrooms lay as they had been left. There had been a bedroom for each of them, he had been kind enough to give them that, but still they had hated him. He had wanted to smash the beds, break the windows and burn their belongings when they left, but the hope that they might all come running back to him, back into his enormous embrace and beg for his forgiveness was too tempting. He wouldn't have the heart to turn them away; the house was so cold without them.

At the bottom of the stairs lay the giant himself. He had passed out the night before and now lay, collapsed, on the final few stairs; his feet raised above his head which was resting on the cold tiles of the floor, drool pooling in his mouth before spilling over, wetting first his cheek and then the ground beneath him. He remained fully clothed, knee-high leather boots restricting the movement of his feet and lower legs, tough brown trousers to keep out the cold, his thick, soviet coat that had kept him warm since 1922 and of course, the scarf his sister had knitted him a thousand winters ago. Its colour had faded to the palest of pink but the wool itself had hardly worn. The scarf was as much a part of him now as his hair, silver-grey despite his youthful appearance or his eyes, the most alluring shade of deep purple, and it could not be worn away by time in the same manner that any mortal garment could be.

As the midmorning light shone bright under the seal of the old oak door, the giant awoke, feeling the light on his eye lids so keenly that for a moment he thought someone had taken a pickaxe to his head as they left. Then the initial pain passed and he found himself lying upside down on the staircase with an empty bottle of vodka in his left hand and several more clamouring to leave his body in whatever manner possible.

Groaning, the giant rolled his enormous form onto all fours and was halfway to standing before he felt his stomach clench and his jaw muscles contract. Doubling over, he heaved, hearing his own retching and the splattering sound of vomit hitting the tiled floor. He straightened himself quickly, wiping his mouth on the back of his gloved hand before turning to take the stairs in just a few of his long strides, running for the bathroom as he made it to the top.

He couldn't make it to the small room at the end of the first floor corridor before he was wracked with a new series of stomach spasms, much to his dismay staining the carpet with undigested vodka and stomach acid, unable to stop his body regurgitating the alcohol that had sent him to sleep the night before.

When he finally arrived in the painfully bright white of the bathroom, it seemed he his stomach was empty. Pulling the wreaking gloves from his hands, he tossed them to a corner and then ran the sink full of cold water, enjoying the feel of the cool liquid against his face as he splashed himself clean. He pulled the plug, using his hands to catch sufficient water from the tap that he could rinse the foul taste of sleep, stale alcohol and vomit from his mouth.

The giant was painfully aware that he stank. He stank like a man who hadn't changed his clothes in weeks and had been sleeping on the streets every night. Reluctantly, he kicked off his boots, flinching visibly as the stench of his feet caused him to dry retch once again. He pulled his socks and trousers from his body as quickly as he could and then ran warm water into the bath in order to cleaning his wreaking feet.

As he sat on the cold porcelain, the giant began the slow, painful process of undoing his coat. He loved this coat; it had been his first choice of clothing for every important event that had happened in the past sixty seven years and even though he took it off every night when he came home it always felt wrong to do so. This coat should be a part of him too, it should be as important as the scarf, but of course it wasn't allowed to be. A scarf could survive a regime change, this coat couldn't.

As the coat dropped to the floor, the giant grabbed the soap and began to clean his feet, relaxing at the pleasant sensation of all the terrible smells and sweat rolling away down the sink. When he was done he stood and removed the thinning white shirt he had been wearing under his coat and the white vest that usually came before all other clothing, both wet from the bath water, but being careful to let the scarf stay at his neck. Finally, he stumbled to the toilet, kicked up the seat and let his white cotton briefs fall to the floor, breathing a sigh of relief as he emptied his bladder.

When he was done, the giant stepped back from the toilet and turned to face himself in the bathroom mirror. It was the first time in a long time that he had really paid any attention to his physique. His eyes started at his feet, which were still glistening with the water from the bath and enormous as ever. Big feet were a good sign, or so he had always thought, it meant you were well grounded; it took something extraordinary to move you.

The giant let his gaze wander up his legs, covered with stiff, dark hairs and a single drop of urine running down the right leg. His legs were still well muscled as they had always been, a lifetime trekking through the snow could do that to a person, but they seemed slimmer now. His breath caught in the back of his throat as he realised the implication of loosing bodyweight. It was to be expected he supposed, what with the sudden rush of emptiness in the house, but it still stung to be reminded of how keenly they meant it.

Eyes travelled further upwards, all but ignoring the unfairly gigantic appendage that the giant had for a penis. It was just more flesh to him now, and unless he was fortunate enough to have some object of his desires before him it was all it ever really was to him. Even so, he couldn't help but let a small smile dance in his lips at the memory of that stupid boy's careless blunder that had led him to discover the extent of his size. Even if it didn't matter to the giant, it mattered to him, it mattered to…

"America…" the giant mumbled, knowing no one would hear. Suddenly, his head was full of memories, the memories he'd been trying to forget. His hands flew to ball in his hair and he crumbled to the floor under the weight of the past few years, meeting his own gaze in the mirror.

His eyes were wide and alert despite the dark circles underlying them that spoke of a man deprived of proper rest. His large nose was wrinkled in panic and his mouth hung open in a horrible grimace, like a child who is about to burst into tears. His breathing was rapid and he noticed with horror that he could see his ribs beginning to show themselves through his skin.

The sudden flood of emotion that had come with the memory of that one incident passed as quickly as it had arrived, and the giant found himself well aware of a pounding in his head that he realised had been there since he woke. He pulled himself back to his feet and left the bathroom, his mind set on relieving the pain.

On his way downstairs, he stopped into one of the many bedrooms that had belonged to the friends he'd never had. Rummaging through the draws he found a pair of loose shorts that he supposed was intended to be worn as underwear and slipped them on to cover himself. Much as it pained him to have to accept that many of the house's inhabitants had left, he was sure that some of the rooms were still occupied and he would make every effort to salvage some air of dignity around them where possible.

The giant descended the stairs, treading carefully so as to avoid unnecessary splinters in his feet. He turned right down the hallway and walked to the very end until he reached the kitchen. Even at this time of day, it was dark in there. The sun wouldn't swing round to this side of the house till late afternoon and no one had ever cared to change the light bulb in the mould-stained lampshade and so the room was usually seeped in half light.

Not even bothering to survey any damage he might have done to the room in his drunken fury, the giant crossed the room to the freezer which had almost been pulled off the far wall. Looking inside he was relieved to find two unmarked bottles of vodka still present. It wasn't much, but it would kill his headache for now. Like a man dying of thirst, he pulled the first bottle out, twisted the cap off and took three gulps of the home brewed alcohol. Almost immediately, he felt his headache subside and an air of groggy clarity overtook him.

"Bit early don't you think?" The voice came from behind the giant. It was cock sure and uncomfortably loud in his ears, it was also tainted with a thick German accent. He turned to face the man he knew was sitting at the table behind him.

Sure enough, the skinny figure of the only albino the giant had ever met could be seen, sitting tall at the small circular table that had sufficed for everyone when they had all been together. His red eyes shone even in the low light as did the white of his teeth from the lopsided grin he always wore. Today, he was in his full blue military uniform, every button done tight and the Eisernes Kreuz hanging proud around his neck. From the white of his hair to the shining black of his boots he was an extraordinary looking creature, his body was lithe yet well muscled and he could fight. Dear God he could fight. For a second, an image of a bloody battlefield, centuries old, played across the giant's mind. The sights and sounds of a war he'd never witnessed but had heard so much about that it felt as if he had been on the front line himself flashed across his mind, bringing with it a nostalgic longing for the days when all one's problems could be solved with brute force. Then he was back in the room, staring at the man from the open door of the freezer.

"To be drinking like that I mean," the man continued, clearly taking the giant's silence as a cue to go on, "I know you wanted everyone to stay and keep playing at happy families, but c'mon! It's not even midday! It's not awesome to be getting drunk before the chicks arrive you know."

The giant knew. The man was pushing him on purpose, hoping to get a reaction; he had always been that way. The others had been perfectly happy to be miserable and do as he said, but the albino devil would never go down without a fight. He had never bested the giant, but he had never gone down quietly.

"I'm not going to hit you today," the giant mumbled, lurching over to the table and collapsing into a chair that he was sure was not designed to take his weight. He was certain that he looked ridiculous, being so sparsely dressed and drinking vodka as if it were water, but he found it very difficult to care.

"You're taking this that badly, eh?" the man didn't stop smiling as he leaned in to the table, possibly still hoping to work his desired reaction from the giant by pushing the boundaries of friend and foe, "look, I know it sucks that no one wants to be your friend anymore, but surely you're still up for the old toe to toe?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"They will come back," the giant said quietly, taking another swig of vodka as he did so. The albino chuckled,

"Come back? Mr Soviet sir, as soon as that gate can be broken, they'll go," he turned to look out of the window, his smile faltering slightly, "every last one of them."

"And I will not be Mr Soviet anymore," the giant said, letting his gaze trail out of the window and into the wild expanse of wooded garden beyond, "I suppose I might as well ask you to call me by my old name, in a few years it's all I'll have."

"Russia? You want me to call you Russia?" The other man lost his smile for a moment in favour of a look of utter bewilderment, "I mean you let everyone else call you that, but not me."

"Well then Mr Ost-Deutschland," the giant paused, surprised at how strange German sounded in his accent, "I suggest you take this rare opportunity to indulge yourself."

Their eyes locked over the table and they held each other's gaze for what felt like an age. It was impossible to tell who broke first, but the moment seemed instantaneous when they each fell into a low chuckle. The giant, who would be no one but Russia from that day forth, offered the vodka to Ost-Deutschland who looked at it hard for a long moment, as if it were a decision of great importance he were making before he spoke.

"Not today Russia. Not today." He pushed the bottle back towards Russia who took yet another swig before they settled into a long silence.

It was not an uncomfortable silence, but it each felt as if the other was being weighed down by whatever troubles were at the forefront of their minds. Russia taking the occasional mouthful of vodka, although he knew that it wouldn't be enough to drown his anger and Ost-Deutschland remaining perfectly still, eyes fixed on the table and his smile as wide as ever. After what could have been anything from ten minutes to three hours, Russia broke the silence,

"Where is my sister?" He asked, his voice loud and low as ever, but his tone was odd, seeming almost childlike to Ost-Duetschland, like a lost boy asking where his mother was, but not wanting to let on that he was worried.

"Belarus left in the last group," Ost-Deutschland replied, knowing that she wasn't the sister Russia was asking for,

"Not that little bitch," Russia let his fists grow tight in irritation, "my elder sister."

"Elder sister?" Ost-Deutschland asked calmly. Had this been any other day then Russia would have already thrown him against the wall for acting like a little shit, but today he wanted an excuse to fight. It was sod's law that he be denied it now.

"My sister Ukraine!" Russia shouted at him, eyebrows furrowing in anger and his fist hitting the table as he spoke.

"Oh Ukraine! The one with the delicious titties?"

"That's my sister you're talking about you little dolboeb,"

"Yeah yeah yeah, I know! Calm down there big guy!" Ost-Deutschland gave a small chuckle, "she left this morning."

Russia's face froze in an expression of utter confusion. The tension left his shoulders and he fell back into his chair, which made a worrying creak as he did so. He looked defeated.

"Gone?" He asked his eyes wide in childlike sorrow.

"''Fraid so dude. But hey! Chechnya's still kicking around somewhere; I bet you could get her to clean this mess up for you. And y'know, she's pretty hot; maybe you could see if she's up for anything else, if y'know what I mean. Either that or just get her to cook us some decent food or…."

Ost-Deutschland stopped, realising that Russia was sobbing almost silently opposite from him. His nose was running and tears were already halfway down his cheeks. He looked like an over sized toddler. Suddenly, he realised that he didn't have it in him to pick his fight with the giant. In fact, he suddenly wasn't so sure that he wanted to pick his fight at all. He sighed and tried his best to be human for him.

"Hey, listen, she's you're big sister, she'll come back. Maybe not for a while, but she'll come back some day Russia, I promise,"

"But she hates me!" Russia wailed his voice suddenly so high pitched that all illusions of the man he was physically were gone.

"She doesn't hate you," Ost-Deutschland replied, his voice heavy, "you're just too much for her right now, much as she may love you, she can't live for you."

"And…and what the hell d-do you know about it?"Russia spluttered out, wiping his eye with the corner of his scarf as he did so. Ost-Deutschland let his Chesingrhire-cat fall into something a bit more natural and answered

"I'm the oldest in my family too y'know. Trust me, leaving your kid brother out on his own hurts."

Russia stared blankly across the table at Ost-Deutschland, but he gave the small hiccup that let the German know that he would stop crying now.

Staring as Russia as his tears subsided and a few more gulps of vodka made it down his throat, nearly emptying the bottle, Ost-Deutschland felt as though he could see the thought process going through the man's mind. He was drunk enough that he didn't mind thinking but his thoughts were coming so slowly and so visibly that it was all the albino could do not to laugh. Finally, he turned so that their eyes met, amethyst on rubies, and the question he had been forming in his mind was given voice.

"Why are you here?"

Ost-Deutschland felt his smile fall from his lips even as he scrambled to keep a hold on it. He hadn't left when Hungary had left, though he had wanted to so very badly, he hadn't left when Poland and Lithuania and the other Baltics had left, dragging Belarus behind them, he hadn't even left when Ukraine had come to him that morning and asked him to come with her. Instead he had waited, he had hidden from Russia when needs be, but mostly he had waited for the day.

He had been waiting for this day.

"The wall comes down today," he replied, mumbling his words and letting his head droop.

"The wall comes down and you're sitting here talking to me?" Russia looked incredulous, "today, you have your country back; the gate will open for you! You can go East-German….Ost-Deutschland! And I can't stop you, what do you have to be sitting here looking miserable for?"his words were slow, and slightly slurred, but heartfelt nonetheless.

Ost-Deutschland raised his eyes again to meet Russia's, still shining from tears, "what do I have to be happy about?" he asked softly.

"I thought you all wanted freedom from me," Russia said, his eyes showing confusion once again, "and you fought hardest for it, why would you be so upset to finally have your wish?"

It dawned on Ost-Deutschland that Russia was unable to sense the mood of the East German people properly. He could probably feel their joy at knowing that they would finally be able to return to the west, to his brother, but he couldn't hear the desires of their hearts. Ost-Deutschland suddenly felt the weight of all the years of his life hit him, he felt old and vulnerable, and it somehow didn't seem like such a bad thing.

"Russia?"

"Hmm?"

"You know how the first nations, the nations that birthed every other nation, were born of the hearts of humans?"

Russia gave a peculiar wiggle of his head, it seemed non committal or unsure, but Ost-Deutschland took it as permission to continue.

"Do you ever feel your human side? Like you get overtaken with something so strange to you that you know it's not in your nature as a nation?"

Russia smiled, just a little, with the corners of his mouth, "I get overrun by things outside my nature as a nation, but they are not human things that take me," he replied, "you see, I was not born of another nation, nor was I born of the hearts of humans. I was born of something a little different." His eyes closed, thinking of his father, "I think I am the only nation born of such a thing, it is odd to think I was born so differently from my sisters."

Russia's eyes opened and he once again surveyed the dejected looking Ost-Deutschland, "why do you ask?"

"I think I just felt my history catch up with me," Ost-Deutschland whispered, "and it made today seem so much easier."

Russia frowned, "what do you mean?"

Ost-Deutschland turned fixed Russia with a stare so intense that even the giant himself froze under it, "my people do not want me," his voice was firm as his eyes when he spoke.

"That's impossible, you're people want you free so they can be free, even I can feel that much,"

"No you can't Russia, you can't feel this. I'm East Germany, where people were trapped and oppressed, and nobody wants to live their anymore, they want to live in West Germany, where people are free. They want the whole country to be West Germany so they can be free wherever they choose. They want East Germany to fade into history and never come back."

Russia's eyes flashed with something that looked like fear, "what exactly are you trying to say Ost-Deutschland?"

"I'm saying that soon I'm going to have to leave here, I won't be able to stay no matter how hard I try and then I'm going to begin to walk to Berlin. Sometime today, the wall will fall and once that happens nothing can be done. The wall will fall and I will die, and if I'm lucky my body will make it to Berlin.

Russia looked at him carefully, clearly attempting to work out how he wanted to feel about this piece of information, but his eyes betrayed him. A look of profound sorrow was hidden in those eyes, Ost-Deutschland knew it was nothing personal; a nation couldn't help but feel a great sadness when they knew another nation was doomed.

"A nation is not supposed to die like that," he murmured, "we fade, we have time to understand that we will die and put our affairs in order, to meet the nation who is replacing us."

"I'm not exactly one of the oldest nations on earth, but I understand completely that even the awesome me must die, my affairs are currently in your hands and will soon be passed to my successor, my highly efficient brother who I know and love. There is nothing about this death that is unfitting, I really only feel sad that I'm never going to see West again."

"You can't take this so calmly! This is you're death! How can you let it happen so fast?"

"It's better to burn out than to fade away," Ost-Deutschland replied sharply, "and besides, it's out of my hands now, I'm not strong enough to curve the will of my people so very drastically, especially if it just means more time wishing they weren't a part of the Soviet Union."

Russia's brow was knit, an air of quiet contemplation overtaking him. He stared at the empty vodka bottle before him with such intensity that for a second Ost-Deutschland was worried he might have passed out with his eyes open. The man was a wreck. His once thickly muscled form beginning to look like an old balloon, the skin now hanging baggy against his much slimmer frame where he was wasting away. His shoulders were broad as ever, but they held none of the threat that they had done when he first called himself 'superpower', now they looked like the shoulders of a drunk who had given up all hope of ever fixing the problems in his life. Ost-Deutschland supposed that was true enough now, the only difference being that Russia had already lived the span of many thousands of lives and would no doubt live a thousand more. There was plenty of time for a nation to atone for their sins.

Ost-Deutschland felt a shiver run down his spine. He had sinned. He had sinned such a sin that he wasn't sure he could ever feel whole again, even if he wasn't set to die that day, his sin had stained his soul black and he had no hope of redemption at this, the midnight hour. He supposed he could beg for it on his death bed, wherever that would be, but it didn't sit right with him, and it certainly wasn't awesome. No. He supposed the only thing he could do was hope that in dying he could take the sins of his brother with him and leave the boy to a life without that terrible number hanging over his head.

"Never forget, never repeat," he whispered so very quietly that it barely shook the silence of the room.

Russia hauled himself from his sitting position and stumbled back across to the freezer. He threw the empty bottle in his hand into the sink on his way where it shattered, temporarily filling the dingy kitchen with the soft tinkle of broken glass. He wrenched the door open with such force that the plug was pulled from the wall and the light from within went dark. The giant grabbed the final bottle from the bottom shelf and nearly bit the top straight off in his desperate attempt to get the vodka into his system as fast as possible. Ost-Deutschland watched as he once again became entangled in his slow-moving thoughts.

"Hey Russia," Ost-Deutschland called out, loud enough to drag the giant's conscious thoughts to the surface and provoke a sullen grunt as an indication that he was listening, "where the fuck did it all go wrong?"

"I suppose when I thought I could impose communism on…"

"Not for you! How self obsessed are you? Jeez, I'm dying here and you want to try and work out where your master plan went wrong?"

Russia's eyes narrowed again, the friendly atmosphere that had been building between the two evaporating as he did so, "I don't know where you made your big mistake mister _East Germany_," he spoke Ost-Deutschland's English name with such venom that anyone unfamiliar with the language could easily have mistaken it for a curse word, "but I'm guessing it all has something to do with that brother of yours."

Ost-Deutschland frowned, "What do you mean by that?" he retorted, feeling genuine anger begin to take a hold of him despite himself.

"I'm just saying that you've hardly been the great nation of old since you let that blonde haired, steroid addicted child start calling the shots for you."

"I'll have you know that my brother has been nothing but awesome since we teamed up," Ost-Deutschland heard his voice rise as he stood up and marched across the kitchen to bring himself as level with Russia as he could without standing on tiptoes, "that's what siblings do you see, they team up! No dictatorship, no one forcing them to stay!"

"And that team you formed had worked so well, hasn't it?" Ost-Deutschland saw the evil glint in Russia's eye that he had come to associate with hearing something he really didn't want to believe but he knew was heartbreakingly true, "So well that nobody can remember who you really are anymore."

Ost-Deutschland braced himself mentally, preparing for the final, soul shattering blow that Russia was so close to delivering. Trying to tell himself that he could handle anything the giant had to say and that he could brush it off as if it were dust. He sorely hoped he was right. He didn't mind dying today, but he didn't want to die miserable.

The deathblow never came.

Instead, the most confusing sensation overtook Ost-Deutschland. His upper body was being compressed, though not unpleasantly so, and he was surrounded by comforting warmth. His face had been buried in something soft that smelled like someone else's most treasured possession and felt as if it was being warmed by body heat.

"I remember who you are," Russia's voice was soft and close. So close that Ost-Deutschland could feel the giant's breath on his neck and the voice seemed to rumble through his body. His brain finally caught up with his current situation and he realised that he was being held in Russia's firm embrace.

"I'm not that nation anymore," Ost-Deutschland replied, surprising himself when his voice also came out low and breathy. It occurred to him that the position he had found himself in with the Russian was almost uncomfortably intimate. Their heads were each buried into the nape of the other's neck and Russia's disregard for clothing that day meant that he was now being pressed against the man's naked torso.

"I remember your parents, all those old tribes who used to live just next to Poland," Russia spoke again, his breath still warming Ost-Deutschland's neck.

"Stop." Ost Deutschland whispered into Russia's scarf. He didn't want the one to remind him of his proud history, to be the last person to see him properly happy, to be this man who had held him captive for all these years.

"I remember when you were born, and you became the Teutonic Knights. You and Hungary used to play together every day." Ost Deutschland felt his eyes prickle at the thought of Hungary. He was pretty sure he loved her, but he knew he was unable to do anything about it now.

"And then you got your real name," Russia continued, this time rubbing his nose against the skin above Ost-Deutschland's jugular, "then you became Prussia."

Ost-Deutschland froze at the sound of the name. Prussia. That was who he really was, that was the nation he'd always been at heart. There had been a myriad of different variations on that name; he had been a Duchy, a Kingdom, even Royal Prussia for a while, but always Prussia. Even now, the name Ost-Deutschland was an uncomfortable fit, even after forty four years he couldn't make it a part of himself.

And he had been so great, so terrifying in battle and powerful enough to see fear in his enemy's eyes as he approached. Back then when he had torn across Europe. Being Prussia was what he had been born to do, which made it all the more numbingly sad that he should die as Ost-Deutschland.

"Prussia," Russia whispered his mouth now by Prussia's ear. This time, his name was an invitation and it was one that he so very sorely wanted to accept. He could already feel himself pushing his face further into the giant's scarf in the hope of encountering skin, feel his hands coming up to touch the man's bare chest, feel the arms that encircled him moving lower as if to lift him. He would have accepted Russia's intimacy and been thankful for it.

But then he felt a tugging in his chest. It was time to go.

He pushed himself away from Russia quickly, spluttering and gasping for air from the shock of the sudden, undeniable sensation he had just felt. Russia stood frozen across the kitchen; his back lit by what light was coming through the window. Had it been any other time, the expression of pleasure denied that was etched on his face would have been comical, but to Prussia he just looked like a shadow of a once great man, wearing nothing but a faded pink scarf and a ratty old pair of boxer shorts who had the beginnings of an erection.

"I just…I…I have to go," was all Prussia could manage to say. The look on Russia's face was enough to let him know that he felt jilted and stupid, but that he understood. He turned to leave the kitchen, walking as quickly as he dared down the corridor towards the front door. Light was now pouring from the lip of the doorway and the hall was bright compared to the dark of the kitchen. Just as his hand touched the door knob, Russia called out to him once again.

"Wait, Prussia!" The giant called his name but didn't leave the dark room beyond, "you're name."

Prussia sighed. Every nation was supposed to reveal their true name on the day they died, the name they would have had if they had been born human. Usually, nations died surrounded by their families, who knew their names anyway, but he was here with Russia now, and he'd be lucky if he ever saw another living soul.

"Gilbert," he said, a smile creeping back to his lips as he did, "my name is Gilbert Beilschmidt_."_

"Ivan Braginsky," Russia replied, and Prussia couldn't help but marvel at how, when he put the name to the part superpower, part washed up has-been, part child that Russia embodied, how very well it fit.

"Bye Ivan," Prussia muttered, opening the door wide and letting the early afternoon sun stream into the house. He left it like that for just a moment, just to take in the sights and smells of the world outside the four walls he had been confined to for so many years. But soon he heard Russia scream in discomfort at the sunlight on his still hung-over eyes, and the pull from the south-west became too great to ignore. Starting slowly, but increasing his speed until he broke into a run, he flew down the gravel path towards the gate, elated by the knowledge that it would open for him.

When he made it to the bottom of the garden, he found the gate as Ukraine had left it: battered but intact. It was just a simple white garden gate, but it had held them all prisoners for so long now, that it seemed ridiculous to think that he could just walk through it. Prussia stretched out his hand to touch the cool metal of the latch. He tested it with minimal pressure, and was so stunned to find it swing open for him as if it were any other garden gate that for a second he couldn't breathe. But only for a second.

Soon he was running again, running across half melted snow in the brilliant late autumn sunshine of the northern lands he had been born in, that he had lived in. As he left he heard the gate click shut behind him of its own volition and he very nearly looked back to be sure that it had closed properly. But the pull was too strong now that he was outside; Berlin was calling him. The capital that had always been his but had been given to his brother was singing him songs of the all the lives he had lived and they were songs so beautiful that Prussia felt tears spring to his eyes. Onwards he ran.

As darkness began to fall, Prussia felt a tearing in his chest and a pain so terrible that he was forced to slow to a walk so as to relieve it somewhat. He knew what that pain meant; it meant the wall was down. Now it was only a matter of time.

He continued onwards, past towns and cities, across grassland and through forest, the ache in his chest slowly outweighing that of the agonising pull of the city. Eventually, it was too much. He stopped on a stretch of disused back road in what he knew to be the Polish countryside. He had made it to Poland, which he supposed wasn't bad. Hey, he'd once been a part of Poland too.

Prussia fell to his knees and then his face fell to the floor. He pushed himself over so that he was lying on his back, gasping for what little breath he had left to draw. He saw a myriad of stars above him; those friends who had helped him and so many others navigate before anyone had the presence of mind to invent a compass. The longer he stared, the more blurred they appeared to him, and it became a struggle to keep his eyes open.

A flutter of wings overhead let Prussia know that the first of the carrion had arrived. "Go away you stupid bird, I'm not done yet," he weezed, coughing with the effort of forcing sounds from his dying lungs.

_"I am no stupid bird."_

The words rung through Prussia's head, he knew that voice well. Had it been any other time he would have been struck dumb by delighted surprise, but he didn't have the energy to be shocked any more. "Gilbird?" he asked in a shallow whisper. The black eagle of the Prussian flag gave a cry at the name_._

_"I am no longer the little chick you once raised," _came the reply, and Prussia felt as if the pain, the suffering that had been wracking his body was being lifted.

"Are you giving me the strength to run?" Prussia asked, his voice now coming more freely

_"No."_

"Then why take the pain?"

_"So you do not die with it."_

"I must reach Berlin!" Prussia cried, feeling that tears of frustration prickling at his eyes.

_"No."_ The eagle spoke in such a firm tone that Prussia felt powerless to act against it.

_"But…my people…"_he murmured, his eyes beginning to close.

_"They will be fine without you,"_ the eagle soothed, _"Ludwig will look after them, and they will be happy in the state of Germany. You've done them proud Prussia, they will not forget you for it, but your time upon the world stage is up. Sleep now, and rest peacefully."_

Prussia's eyes had closed completely, and his breathing was shallow. Slowly, a final smile crept to his lips and his muscles lost their tension. The final thought to cross his mind before the darkness took him was the image of the blonde baby he had found while walking the fields between his old house and France's. The small blonde babe who would now take charge of the land that had once been Prussia.

The eagle screeched; the stars were put out by the rising sun; the dawn chorus began as it did every day. And the Teutonic Knights, Royal Prussia, The Duchy of Prussia, Brandenburg, The Kingdom of Prussia and East Germany passed into history forever.


End file.
